


no one even knew, it was really only you

by elephantshrew (i_am_peroxide)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: spoliers for ep 113
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_peroxide/pseuds/elephantshrew
Summary: You know something's wrong as soon as the figures slump to the ground.





	no one even knew, it was really only you

You know something's wrong as soon as the figures slump to the ground. The chill of unease only spreads when when the third figure fails to react as an axe slams into its torso. Red spills down it's front, slick and gleaming on the polished black armour that sits just a little too loose on the wiry frame of the unmoving creature. 

A creeping sensation of _wrongness_ steals up your spine, wrapping around your throat and tightening around your neck, an idea in the back of your head that becomes harder and harder to ignore every second you stare at the two bodies. The hard black helmets, dislodged from just the simple impact of hitting the ground, exposing the silver of a chin, pale in the low light. Too small, too slight. Not right. 

You think desperately that this must be another trick, another illusion, just another sick mind game from the god of lies. Just another false wall, built to fuck with your minds, lower your morale before the final fight. You pray for it to be a lie. You pray and hear his laughter in your head, see his twisted smile and rotten eye, _oh vex'ahlia, what have you done now?_

You shout _wait!_ just as Arkhan goes in for another strike, his blade a seething mess of blood and chaos. You don't dare voice your fear, but your friends pick up on your tone instantly. Your brother stiffens next to you, his blades back in hand, tense and ready and waiting. The dragonborn pulls the helmet off and your chest seizes. Your inhale is a sharp, broken thing, and you can feel your brother shaking next to you, his breaths coming in gasps as he drops his daggers, clattering metal on stone. You stare at the arrow, _your_ arrow, buried in the neck of the vulnerable figure on the ground and feel like throwing up. Another mistake, another tree to add to the orchard of death you've cultivated by your callous, bloodied hands. 

The zombies pull the remaining helmets off and for a brief, terrible second you are relieved that it is not Velora you see lying broken, before the horror sets in your bones and you look into the face of your sister-in-law and see your penance. Your arrow protrudes out of her red-stained throat, her blood slowly seeping into her hair, her eyes glassy and ajar and _dead, dead, dead._ You hear Scanlan cry out and see his daughter on the ground and you shake your head and tell yourself this isn't real, this cannot be real, because they were supposed to be at home and safe and far, far away from this and _you killed them_. 

For a long, empty moment no one moves. Then Arkhan raises his axe and makes to cut off Gilmore's head, and suddenly there's a flurry of movement as both you and your brother throw yourselves in front of him in tandem, because it's _Gilmore_ , and he deserves better than dying here, in this unholy temple by the hands of those he calls friends. Pike walks up, calm, stoic Pike, touches Kaylee and brings life back into her veins, walks over to Cassandra and does the same. Pike, who cleans up all your messes, who brings life as many times as you have brought death, as stalwart and steady as her faith in redemption, and you know (as everyone knows) that her magic is limited, but you would take your death a thousand times over before having to live with the guilt of murdering your loved ones. 

As your brother cradles his lover's cheek and begs him to flee, and as Percy approaches silently to help Cassandra up, you look up at the last flight of stairs approaching the battle, and you swear to yourself that before the day is done your hands will kill a god, or die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> the twins are absolutely op death assassins and i love them


End file.
